NAVEL GAZING: excessive absorption in self-analysis or focus on a single issue

PART I. DESTRUCTION: The Encounter

I didn't want to be without her — her beautiful face, infectious smile, her long lean body, and the way she made me feel. But as time passed, and in the cruel way that familiarity and knowledge can sometimes work together against your dreams, the way I saw her changed, and how I saw myself. I slowly woke to the severe reality of our relationship that had been chosen in the hope of living out an unfulfilled ideal, and the way she made me feel became inescapable. I willed the strength to be away from her....

It started out as love once imagined and stirred a renewed optimism in my life, an optimism that had nearly died within the constraints of my marriage. Long-dormant feelings were ignited with the promise of possibility. It was her smile that caught my attention and lingered in my thoughts. I watched as she introduced herself as she engaged with others from that first court reporting class. I found myself staring and had to distract myself in conversation with those near me.

My nearly 10-year tenure as manager of credit and pricing policy with a local dairy manufacturer ended unceremoniously as the company was sold off in parts to various buyers. I was offered a position as finance manager for dairy operations by the large conglomerate that purchased the trade style and retained a majority of our sales force. It was a short stint though, quickly souring when made clear that moving my family to the cattle-town, operations center, was non-negotiable. It was my first taste of being a stay-at-home Dad, and found that I had a knack for it. In between child care and household duties, I researched what I believed would be a mid-life career change. Mine and Samantha's relationship, by then, had already deteriorated to the point where we were more like roommates, than husband and wife. The change brought about by my new at-home role provided a short-lived stay from our marital woes, but eventually returned to its prior standing. 

It felt as though my ability to persevere had a negative effect on Samantha. She fell back into her funk, spending most of her free time isolated in our bedroom. I remember her mom telling me one day, after spending the afternoon with us, that I do too much—as if my efforts to pick up the slack were part of the problem.

Samantha, employed since graduation by an attorneys' association, had risen to Director of Education over the years. Her relationships with attorneys were a major factor in my decision to pursue court reporting, believing her connections could help me secure deposition work.

The instructor moved to the front of the room, signaling the start of class.  As fate would have it, the girl with the radiant smile made her way toward the back saw to an empty desk near mine. Over time, we became friends, and each night thereafter, could be found sitting close to one another.

As the weeknight classes continued, the relationship developed. I admit to musing over thoughts of us together but wouldn't have entertained the idea that she could be doing the same.  She was seven years younger and looked younger still. Despite our age difference, an instant chemistry existed that was enhanced by similarities. We both had small children; I had four boys ranging in ages from 13 to 5; she had two girls, ages 4 and 2. We were older than most in attendance, with college days well behind and recent careers in the rear-view mirror. Realistically though, most poignant was the disappointment each felt in current relationships and the belief that the best years lay ahead.

Most nights at break, we made our way to a neighborhood Wegmans Market where, together with others from class, we strolled down the long store aisles that were stocked with countless items. Early on, breaks continued with the group, but as time went by, it was often just the two of us...alone and lost in shared grins and comfortable conversations.  Sometimes we decided on Mexican food and shared a meal at Rubio's. Other times we opted for something less and settled for Jamba Juice smoothies. Most often though, we returned to the market where we had first ventured. We took our food to-go and enjoyed each other's company as we talked in between bites; Nina, with a deli sandwich and adorably making a mess of it; and me, with a California roll, as I indulged in a later-in-life love for sushi.

As the weeks turned to months, breaks were frequently stretched beyond the 60-minute time frame. The topics of discussions narrowed and focused on personal subjects, and as we continued to share the intimate detail of our lives with each other, what was once thought of as only fantasy, I began to believe could be real.

Those nights together with Nina were deceptively uncomplicated and in sharp contrast to time spent with my wife. Although we were technically innocent of marital infidelity, I felt guilty as I continued to walk the tightrope connecting the shrinking distance of my two lives.

There was bound to be a collision.